Throw My Voice, Burn Out Your Heart
by Sherlockian-Spy
Summary: While Sherlock is away Moriarty fakes all of the texts, emails, and phone calls between Sherlock and John. Sherlock returns home happy thinking John wants to start a romantic relationship, but John has moved out because of "Sherlock"'s cruel messages.
1. Original Prompt

Sherlock leaves London for a case. While he's gone he keeps in touch with John, and the two begin to share increasingly flirty and emotionally vulnerable texts, emails, etc. and by the time Sherlock returns he's thrilled that he and John are finally ready to embark on a romantic relationship. But when he arrives home John has packed his things and moved out, leaving a bitter, angry handwritten note declaring he never wants to see or hear from Sherlock ever again. Sherlock is confused and heartbroken.

Meanwhile, John has moved far away and is looking for a new start in life after having fled from Baker Street because of the increasingly cruel, hateful, demeaning messages he had received from Sherlock while he was out of town, dashing all hopes John ever had of he and Sherlock ever becoming more than just friends.

Turns out Moriarty, technological wizard that he is, has faked all of the communication between John and Sherlock over the last few weeks. He himself generated all of the texts, emails, and perhaps even phone calls (maybe he's got some wicked good voice synthesizing software) and he's been totally manipulating both of them as part of that whole "burn the heart out of you" thing.

Of course an eventual happy Sherlock/John ending would be fantastic.

TL;DR While Sherlock is away Moriarty fakes all of the texts, emails, and phone calls between Sherlock and John. Sherlock returns home happy thinking John wants to start a romantic relationship, but John has moved out because of "Sherlock"'s cruel declarations that he has grown bored with him and wants him gone.


	2. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: This is not mine. I do not own, though I would love to have me a Mycroft because hot damn. Rated M for possible slash. Not sure yet._

The sound of a sonic screwdriver filled the air. Sherlock smiled while the people around him cringed from the sound. He had to admit, it wasn't a pleasant sound, but it got his attention. Because that sound meant he had gotten a message from John. That sound made him happier than he remembered being any other time he was away from the good doctor.

John and he had begun texting when Sherlock had to go away. Mycroft had presented him with a case that he couldn't turn down. Normally John would have come with him but his sister, Harry, had called and begged him to stay over with her. The woman was trying to overcome her alcohol obsession, and didn't want to be alone on Clara and her former anniversary. So, ever the dutiful brother, John had remained.

It had started when Sherlock sent John a picture of the body he was looking at. The former military man had cheekily replied with a picture of him and his sister at the pool (not THE pool, for that Sherlock was thankful). He'd told him to be careful he didn't slip and fall, to which John had answered he was glad he cared. Sherlock smiled, at both the memory and the message that he was currently reading.

"Sender: John Watson

Message: Oi! When you coming back Sherlock? I miss you. :( Text me back when you can, I know how preoccupied you get when you're working on a case."

His fingers flew over the keyboard in response,

"I'm never to busy for you John, you should know that by now. In answer to your question, I should be home tomorrow. Will you meet me at that little Italian restaurant we went to that first night? Say, six o'clock?"

The answer came almost as soon as he sent the text it seemed,

"Sender:John Watson

Message: Of course. I'll see you there, I can't wait to see you again. I'll text you later, we're out of milk." /

His phone beeped. It was a cute, perky noise. A noise that he now hated to the core of his being. Because it meant Sherlock was texting him. He'd thought about blocking the number, but he had a feeling it wouldn't have done any good. Sherlock was too good for that. That didn't mean he had to look at it, he could delete the message. John looked at the envelope that covered his screen at the moment. Sherlock's name was below it, in that generic font that most phones had these days. His finger hovered over the delete button, but he knew he would read it. He always read them. He couldn't stop hoping that Sherlock would text him and apologize. Tell him that he didn't know what he was thinking, it was the stress of the case, or it was having to deal with Mycroft that made him say such things.

Even if Sherlock apologized, would he forgive him? Was there any reason at all for the messages that he'd been sent? Any excuse? Even if there was, John didn't know if he'd believe it. Yet, he knew he would forgive Sherlock if he apologized, just as he knew he would read the message that he'd been sent.

"Sender: Sherlock Holmes

Message: John, I'm coming home tomorrow. I think from my previous messages you can deduce that I do not want to see you again. I would thank you for removing both yourself and your possessions from the flat. I found someone else to share with.

SH"

"Well, it's not an apology. Still guess it's a good thing I read it," John muttered to himself. He still had the boxes he'd had his things in when he'd moved to Baker Street. Sighing, he got them out and slowly began filling them. He could, of course, ignore the message and confront Sherlock tomorrow. That didn't seem ideal, besides he didn't want to see whoever it was that the detective had found to replace him with. He was, however, going to leave a note for both Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson, who was currently out doing her shopping. He hoped to be gone before she returned. He dialed his sister's number as he dejectedly began filling the first box.

"Hello?"

"Harry, it's John."

"I know, cell phones do have caller ID these days. What do you need baby brother?"

"Can I stay with you for a bit? I'm moving out, I can't take it anymore, and I need a place to stay until I can find another flat."/


	3. Chapter 2

Sherlock was waiting outside the Italian restaurant, where John had agreed to meet him. In his excitement he was actually bouncing on the balls of his feet. He looked at his watch, 17:56, he'd be here soon. God how he'd missed him. It didn't matter that he knew exactly how John looked (that image had long been stored on his hard drive), no picture or memory could compare to actually seeing him.

"Gods, I've gone mushy."

An hour and a half later, Sherlock was still standing outside. He hadn't shown. Had something happened? No, he would have known if it had. Someone would have contacted him. Deciding to head back to the flat to see if the other man had fallen asleep, Sherlock was surprised to find all of his companion's things gone. His own were untouched, and John's were just gone.

"MRS. HUDSON!" He yelled, searching the bulding for the elderly woman. When he found her, his relief was shortlived because she was giving him a look of utter disappointment.

"Hello Sherlock."

Ignoring her frosty glare he asked her the question that had been plauging him,

"Where's John? Where did he go? Is he OK?"

Her reaction was so unexpected Sherlock didn't even have time to react before she slapped him across the face.

"Shame on you Sherlock Holmes! I dare say that poor man is not OK. As to where he's gone, I don't know. I'd gone off to do my shopping, and when I got home he was gone. Left a note, but it didn't tell me where he'd gone off to. He left you a note too, it's on the mantle. Right good of him too. More than I would have done if I was in his shoes. Rude as you've been."

Spotting the letter, Sherlock managed to tune his land lady out while he savagely ripped it open. In it was indeed a note. It was short, and judging by the pressure of the biro on paper, and the slant of his letters, it was written like a man who had given up. Shaking his head, Sherlock forced these observations aside and focused on what it actually said.

"Sherlock,

I don't know what I'd done before, but now I'm doing what you want. I'm leaving. I've packed up all my things, I think. If I've forgotten anything feel free to just chuck it out.

JHW"/

Rereading the note multiple times, the consulting detective took out his phone and was in the process of sending a message to John's number when Mrs. Hudson Put a hand on his arm.

"He left his phone with my note. Said in it was all the reason he'd left. I read it, and Sherlock Holmes, I have never been so disappointed in you. That man would have moved the world for you, if you'd only asked."

"I don't understand. What are you talking about? He texted me yesterday, we were supposed to meet up for dinner. I waited an hour and a half for him to show up, and I come home, expecting to find John asleep on the couch and instead I find him GONE! It. Doesn't. Make. Sense!"

He pulled out his phone and tossed it at a confused Mrs. Hudson. The elderly woman, after retrieving it from the floor, scrolled through his messages with John. Her face paled when she realized Sherlock had been telling the truth.

"Oh Sherlock, I don't... I didn't want to believe you'd been so cruel to him, but I SAW the messages! They were from you. Look in his phone," she pulled the said piece of equipment out of her pocket and opened the message screen for the detective. As he read the messages, he adopted a face that most had never seen on him before. Utter disbelief, and righteous anger. The disbelief faded slowly, leaving only the anger behind.

"I can't believe he would believe I'd send such a thing."

"He didn't want to, he thought someone must have nicked your phone. So he called, and he said it definitely sounded like you."/

Moriarty grinned to himself. He'd finally done it. He'd broken them up, Sherlock and John. The Dynamic Duo. The Dream Team. And it had been ever so simple. Really, there was an app for anything.

He watched as Sherlock raged in 112B Baker Street. Watched his pain from the hidden camera he'd had installed. He'd told Sherlock if he didn't give up he would burn his heart out. It was the detective's own fault that he hadn't realized silly John Hamish Watson was his heart. Even he, James Moriarty, thought it was obvious that they fancied each other.

"Of course, it was so easy to destroy them. Dull. Boring. Oh Sherlock, I thought you'd be a bit more interesting than this. You're just ordinary after all."/


	4. Chapter 3

John sighed, he'd managed to get temporary work at another hospital. It was only for a few weeks then he was off to another city to work. He hadn't bothered unpacking, why should he? He only needed clothes for a few days. He was emptying his pockets onto the dresser of Harry's spare room when he realized he still had the key to 221B Bakey Street. He frowned, he couldn't take it back. Not with Sherlock there.

Shaking himself he forced himself to look away. He would mail it to Mrs. Hudson tomorrow. After all, she needed her key so that her new tennant would have a key. He turned to his open suitcase and went about looking for his nightclothes. He would not think about Sherlock bloody Holmes.

_Blee do blip!_

The text alert on his mobile went off. John looked at it, it said he had a message. From Sherlock. Steeling himself against more cyber abuse he opened it, and his stomach clenched at what it said.

Sender: Sherlock

Message: John, I'm sorry. Please come home. I miss you.

-SH

Closing his eyes, he let out his breath slowly. This was beyond cruel. He'd waited for Sherlock's apology, for days he'd waited. Now... now he knew he just couldn't go back. Inhaling sharply he hit the icon shaped like a trash can. He wasn't Sherlock Holmes's puppet.

Sherlock ground his teeth, he hated having to call him. He hated to ask favors. This was for John, he reminded himself. He could put up with almost anything if it was for his soldier. He finished punching in the numbers. He had the time to count up to three before the call connected. He really could have used a little more time.

"Sherlock? Why are you calling me?"

Mycroft didn't sound annoyed at his little brother, merely surprised. Sherlock could understand that, he really didn't ever call him.

"It's John. He's left. I don't know where he went?"

"Did he get cold feet after your dinner last night?"

The consulting detective sighed, of COURSE Mycroft knew about that.

"That's just it, he never showed. When I went back to our flat, he was gone. Left a note telling me he didn't want to see me. Mycroft, someone had been sending him messages pretending to be me. I don't know who, or why, but I'm assuming they were also the one messaging my phone. I need your help, to find him. Please Mycroft, help me."/

Moriarty grinned, Sherlock sending that message did almost as much damage in that moment as he had the entire time he'd been playing with them. He looked down at his phone, where he'd been intercepting and sending messages, oh this was wonderful. As he read through the messages, his phone started ringing again. It was Sherlock, trying to call his older brother. He quickly changed the settings and answered,

"Hello?"

"Mycroft, I need your help. John's left, there was this whole huge misunderstanding. Can you tell him to come to the flat tomorrow? Have your assisstant bring him in your car?"

"Of course I can Sherlock. Noon tomorrow."

"Thank you."

The click from the other end of the line was quick following Sherlock's thanks.

"Seb, we're going out tomorrow. I want Mister Holmes to see exactly who he's been playing with."/


	5. Chapter 4

Dreamerswaking: I'm operating under this was a really big case that needed Mycroft and Sherlock. Maybe something involving their family. I really don't know. :P

Dark_Knightress: Thank you! :D I do hope you like the rest of it.

animegirl03: I will do my best to upload at a goodly pace.

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. I do not own the actors either. Though my Godtiss I wish i did.**_

It was time, he was leaving. He shook his head as he loaded his few possessions in Harry's car. She was taking him to his new flat, because they both agreed a cab would cost too much. He was fitting the last box into the boot when a sleek black car pulled up. John knew that car, he knew who was in that car. The same way he knew Sherlock's text alert.

"What is it Mycroft?"

"Now now John, is that anyway to greet a friend?"

The former army doctor glared at the elder Holmes brother,

"Are we friends? Because I was under the impression that the only thing we had in common was Sherlock. Now, I think we both know that we no longer have that shared connection."

Mycroft's face fell from it's grin, and John thought he looked quite distressed. Was he here to beg him to return to 221B Baker Street? He did still have the key, he'd never sent it back to Mrs. Hudson. He'd planned to, even had an envelope addressed to the woman. In the end he'd kept it because he couldn't bring himself to part with it. He still cared about Sherlock, it would take him a long time to get over the man.

"John, I know you're upset. I also know why, I've seen the messages. Please believe me when I say my brother did not send them. He thought he was sending you messages of a completely different nature. I have his phone here, as proof. We don't know how but someone has been manipulating all contact the two of you have had lately. Please John, just look. My brother is heartbroken right now."

Reluctantly, John took the phone from Mycroft. Sliding his finger across the screen to unlock it, he quickly found Sherlock's inbox. Scrolling back to the picture he'd first sent of him and Harry at the pool he began reading.

"Send To: John Watson

Tease.

-SH

Sender: John Watson:

I'm a tease? How?

Send to: John Watson

Sending pictures of youself half naked. I **am** trying to concentrate John.

-SH"

Tears pricked the corners of John's eyes. He hadn't gotten either of those messages. Here they were though, black and white. He skipped forward a bit,

"Send To: John

I'm bored.

-SH

Sender: John

What do you expect me to do about it?

Send to: John

You could always send me another picture.

-SH

Multimedia Message Recieved.

Sender: John

Subject: There, happy?

Send to: John

No, you look decent.

-SH"

He stared in shock at the screen. Sherlock had been flirting with him, he'd even been sent a picture. Whoever had done this was _good. _He was about to hand the phone back over to Mycroft when another message caught his eye.

"Send to: Jawn 3

I miss you John. I can't wait to be back at our flat.

Love,

Sherlock."

The doctor closed the phone, and handed it back to Mycroft. So Sherlock hadn't sent all of those cruel messages. Sherlock had come home thinking that John would be waiting for him with open arms. He'd come home, expecting John to be there to hold him and he hadn't been there. Sherlock had come home to an empty flat.

"Do either of you know who did this?"

Mycroft nodded,

"Yes, Sherlock has already met with the man who dared toy with his dear doctor. I shall leave it to him to tell you the rest. He asked me to give you this,"

He extended his hand revealing a new mobile phone.

"It has all the protections of my own. So our friend shouldn't be able to fake messages to the two of you again. You'll find Sherlock's new number, my own, and Detective Inspector Lestrade's have already been programmed into it."

John thanked him, and the man nodded, smiling again. Getting back into his car, he drove off leaving the other man standing behind his sister's car.

_Answer me._

John couldn't help but smile at Sherlock's text alert. It also made him want to cry. Unlocking the phone he opened the new message,

"Sender: Sherlock

Meet me at Angelo's?

~Sherlock"

He hit the reply button, his fingers moving quickly over the keys,

"Send to: Sherlock

Of course. I love you Sherlock.

~John"

The detective's reply was fast,

"Sender: Sherlock

I love you too. Now get over here.

~Sherlock"


End file.
